The Truth As We Know It
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Caryl, AU. Oneshot. There are several versions to every truth. The only one that really matters is the version that's true for each of us. Rated for language.


**AN: This oneshot is based on the prompt "street artist" by therealsonia.**

 **I own nothing from the Walking Dead.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"This is fucking incredible," Daryl said, holding the large piece of drawing paper at arm's length.

"I hope by incredible you mean incredibly _bad_ ," Carol said.

Both of them had exercised restraint in the presence of the so-called artist that had done the sketch because they wanted to be polite, but now they were back at the hotel, and therefore well out of earshot of the man, and they could be as critical as they wanted.

They were on vacation—on their first trip together since they'd started dating three years earlier—and they'd thought that the portrait would be a great idea. It would be a wonderful keepsake to commemorate their trip. They hadn't even chosen the first street artist that they'd seen drawing sketches. Noticing that there were several of them, all about a block apart from one another, they'd gone around and watched each of them work. They'd seen the drawings that they'd done of other people and they'd judged, together, which they thought would produce the best likeness for their money.

But the finished product? It left a little something to be desired.

Daryl moved around from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed, making himself more comfortable but also angling himself somewhat in Carol's direction, and shook his head at her.

"No, I mean—it ain't _all_ bad," he said.

"Daryl, it's horrible," Carol said. "I mean—OK, maybe it isn't _all_ horrible, but it's pretty horrible."

Daryl put the picture down on the bed and studied it with a furrowed brow. Carol joined him, sitting near him, and leaned over it to have a look at the offending picture once more.

"I just don't understand," she said. "I mean—he did so well on everyone else's portraits. Every one we saw was good. How did this happen?"

"Let's be open minded about it," Daryl said. "It ain't that it's all bad. I mean—look. He drew you good. That looks just like you. Just, he kinda fucked up when he got to me."

Carol crinkled her nose at him and he raised his eyebrows in question over her expression.

"How could you say that?" Carol asked. "That looks _nothing_ like me. It's you that he got right. He's got me looking like—like I don't even know what kind of animal."

Daryl snorted.

"It ain't me he's got lookin' right! Look at my damn eyes!" Daryl picked up the picture and held it up in Carol's direction like she couldn't see it well from the angle that she was using to view it.

Carol shrugged at him.

"What?" She asked.

"Exactly," Daryl said. "What or...better, _where_? Where the hell are my damn eyes, Carol? I don't got no damn eyes!"

Carol laughed to herself at Daryl's reaction over the drawing. The likeness of him, she thought, was actually quite well done. She might have suggested that they simply cut her out of the drawing and keep the part that depicted Daryl.

"There," she said, tracing her finger lightly over the drawing. "There are your eyes."

"They ain't nothin' but lines," Daryl said. "It's like he just—forgot to draw the damn things. Got me all—squinty eyed like I'm a shifty asshole or something."

Carol snorted.

"Well, your eyes are kind of _squinty_ ," Carol said. In response to her statement, Daryl narrowed his eyes at her and made them even more "squinty" than they normally were. Carol laughed and shook her head. "It's not a bad thing," she declared. "I mean—it's just that you spend a lot of time outside. You refuse to wear sunglasses and I guess—your eyes are a little squinty."

"And the fact that there's enough damn bags drawn under there looks like I got a week's worth of our luggage on my face?" Daryl asked. Carol shrugged her shoulders at him. "I can't believe this! You think that looks like me?"

Carol smiled at him.

"I think—it looks a lot like you," Carol said. "And I love your eyes."

"Don't look like me," Daryl said, some sourness to his tone. "He got you right, but he fucked up on me."

Carol felt a flush of warmth in her neck and face. She looked back at the picture.

"That doesn't look like me," Carol said.

"Except it does," Daryl responded.

"Look at my nose," Carol said. "That's not my nose."

Daryl looked at the picture and then looked at Carol.

"The hell you talkin' about?" Daryl asked. "That's _exactly_ your nose. The camera couldn'ta gotten a better picture of it."

Carol sucked in a breath, a little angry that Daryl would even suggest that the drawing looked anything like her.

"That nose is—pointy," Carol said. "My nostrils are huge and _pointy_!"

Daryl studied it and laughed quietly to himself.

"Your nostrils are kinda pointy," Daryl pointed out.

Carol tried her best not to show how angry she was that he would suggest such a thing.

"You're just trying to get me back because I said your eyes were squinty," Carol said. "That's the only reason you're saying that looks like me."

Daryl laughed again, a little louder this time and shook his head.

"No I ain't! I swear! This picture looks like you!" He declared.

"It looks like I've got— _black holes_ on my face!" Carol barked back, not able to control her negative feelings at the moment. "Someone could—fall into my nose and never be heard from again!"

Daryl let go and laughed sincerely at that.

"For fuck's sake, Carol, that's your nose!" Daryl said. "Your nostrils are kinda pointy but—there ain't nothin' wrong with 'em."

Carol opened her mouth to protest again and Daryl reached a hand out to her. When she didn't take his hand, he caught her arm and tugged at it until she hit her feet. Pulling her along behind him, he took her to the bathroom and squared her off in front of the mirror that ran from one wall to another.

"There," he said, gesturing at the mirror. "There—look. That's your nose. And you see? Right here? I mean—it ain't like some damn lost in space black holes, but those are your nostrils. And your nose is—well it's kinda curvy right here. Maybe just—maybe you just got a little bit pointy nostrils."

Carol stared into the mirror at her reflection. Honestly, in all of her life, she couldn't say that she'd ever looked as closely at her nostrils as she did at that moment. She studied her nose, first from one angle and then the other, until she had no choice except to admit what she saw there. Carol sighed. She hadn't ever expected to feel this way about her nose.

"It's awful," Carol said. "He did—a wonderful job drawing it. It's just—it's my nose that's just _awful_."

Daryl laughed and rubbed his hands on her shoulders.

"Your nose ain't awful," Daryl said. "It's a cute nose. It's my favorite nose. I hope—if we have a dozen kids? Every damn one of 'em gets your nose. But—I told you that he didn't fuck up drawing you."

"Well he didn't fuck up on you either," Carol said blankly. "So I guess—he got us _both_ right."

Daryl opened his mouth to protest, but Carol cut him off before he got started. Putting a hand on his shoulder, she turned him toward the mirror and pointed at his reflection.

"The proof is right there," she said. "Look—look for yourself."

Daryl growled at her, but he did lean forward and examine himself in the mirror's reflection. He touched the skin around his eyes, dramatically drawing it back with his fingertips, and then he let it go and frowned at himself.

"When the hell did this happen?" He asked.

Carol laughed to herself.

"It's what you've looked like as long as I've known you," Carol said. "So—it happened at least three years ago."

Daryl looked at her and shook his head.

"And you still agreed to fuckin' go out with me? I don't got eyes, Carol! I look like fuckin' Mr. Magoo!" Daryl declared.

Carol shushed him to remind him to keep his voice down, but she couldn't help but laugh. She leaned into him and planted a kiss on his lips that he couldn't return because he was still reeling over the fact that he'd never noticed that his eyes might not be as "wide open" as some other people's eyes.

"I love your eyes," Carol said. "I mean—sure you squint, but it wouldn't be as bad if you wore sunshades and-that's who you are. You still have beautiful eyes."

"How the hell would you know?" Daryl asked. "It ain't like you never seen 'em!"

"I've seen them," Carol promised him. "And I love them. And—I hope—that if we ever have those dozen kids? They have your eyes."

Daryl stared at her a moment and then he walked around her and let himself out of the bathroom. Carol followed after him and watched as he picked up the picture and studied it again. He frowned at it.

"I guess he didn't do so damn bad after all," Daryl said. "I thought he just got you right but..."

"But he got us both right," Carol said, a little mournfully. "Bad sides and all."

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"It's what we wanted, right? A picture that would look like us. That's what the hell we got," he said.

"Maybe we wanted one that would look like us but—a little nicer version of us?" Carol offered. "Regardless, we got what we got."

Daryl laughed to himself and shook his head, still studying the picture.

"What?" Carol asked.

"Nothin'," Daryl said. "Just thinkin'—if we were to have kids? An' they got—got what you don't like about you and what I don't like about me? We'd prob'ly have some ugly ass lil' kids runnin' around."

Carol laughed at his sentiment.

"No," she said. "They'd be perfect. I don't care what you say, but I think—you're handsome. And I wouldn't change anything about you. I'd be _happy_ if our kids looked like you."

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"And I'd be happy if they looked just like you and didn't look a damn thing like me," Daryl said. "You know—you know you the prettiest damn woman I ever seen. If you weren't, I wouldn'ta saved up so damn much money for this here trip. Woulda saved my money an' bought somethin' a helluva lot more useful. Like some brown bags from the A and P."

Carol frowned at him and Daryl smirked at her before he put the picture on the table near the bed. He crossed the short span between them and wrapped his arms around her, pulling Carol into him. He moved to kiss her, but she turned her face so that he ended up kissing her cheek. Daryl snorted in response.

"Come on," he said. "Don't be like that!"

"No!" Carol said. "You said you wanted to put a—you wanted to put a _bag_ over my head. You don't get to kiss me after that."

Daryl laughed.

"I said I didn't want to put no bag over your head," Daryl said. "You weren't listenin'! You couldn't hear me..." He hesitated, gnawing at his lip, and Carol couldn't help but smirk because she already knew that something smartass was about to come from him. He couldn't stand it. If he thought it, he had to say it, even if he knew it was going to land him in hot water.

Lucky for him, Carol understood that it was all in good fun and she seldom held his asshole comments against him. She sighed.

"Go ahead, it's killing you," Carol said. Daryl's smile widened.

"Your ears ain't as big as your nostrils," Daryl said. "So you couldn't hear me right."

In spite of herself, Carol laughed at him. But she didn't do so without at least offering him a middle finger that just furthered his entertainment.

"Don't be like that," he said. "Shootin' me the damn bird an' shit."

"I'm surprised you can see it," Carol shot back, "since you haven't opened your eyes in the three years I've known you."

Daryl laughed and then returned to the bed to sit on the edge of it. He sighed and nipped at the skin on the edge of his thumb.

"What the hell we gonna do with ourselves?" Daryl asked. "Now that we know the truth? We know—you got pointy ass nostrils and I got damn—squinty ass little eyes."

Carol moved toward the bed and sat on the edge beside him. She reached over and took the hand that he wasn't troubling with his teeth. She held it in her hand, pressing it between her palms.

"I knew what your eyes looked like before," Carol said. "And—I still love you." Daryl hummed. "And you knew what my nose looked like before, didn't you?" He answered her question with an affirmative hum. "And you still love me?"

"You know I do," Daryl said.

"Then there's nothing for us to do," Carol said, "but keep on doing what we've been doing. Just—maybe a little more self-consciously."

Daryl hummed and stood up. He picked up the picture and looked at it again.

"Fuck that," he said. Before Carol could say anything to him, he ripped through the picture. Gathering the pieces together, he ripped through them again and repeated the process until he'd pretty much shredded the thing. Then he crossed the room and dropped all the scraps of the drawing into the trash can.

"What'd you do that for?" Carol asked.

"Fuck if we need some shit layin' around remindin' us to be self-conscious about somethin' we didn't even know existed until just now," Daryl said. "I know what the hell you look like. And I fuckin' _love_ it. It's the best damn sight I see every day. And you must like me alright because you ain't kicked me outta the damn bed yet. We got enough shit to deal with that we don't need no stupid picture makin' us worry about—somethin' neither one of us can change."

Carol nodded at him.

"I agree," Carol said. "And I think—you're the most handsome man in the world. But—now what are we going to do? We were going to use that as a keepsake. A memento for the trip."

"We got a hundred pictures," Daryl said. "And we got good memories. And if that ain't enough? We'll go down there and find us another one of them drawers. Tell 'em—we want us a real good picture. One that looks like it oughta look. Not like—not like that one did."

"You mean we go down there and ask for a fake drawing?" Carol asked.

Daryl shook his head.

"Not fake," Daryl said. "Just—a little bit more in line with the truth we know _we_ see every damn day. After all, Carol, that's the only thing that matters. Just what the hell we see."

"You're right," Carol agreed. "And that's what we'll do. We'll just go down there...explain things...and find an artist with—with enough talent to give us the truth as we see it." Carol laughed to herself. "I'm sure they'll draw anything for twenty dollars. Even our—amazing, love-distorted images of each other."

Daryl smirked at her and came back over to pull her to him again. This time, when he moved to kiss her, Carol allowed him the kiss and returned it with her normal enthusiasm.

"Just the damn way it oughta be," Daryl said.


End file.
